


Dye Day

by SleeplessSheep



Category: South Park
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Friendship/Love, Hair Dyeing, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Showers, Suspected Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 05:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19203253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleeplessSheep/pseuds/SleeplessSheep
Summary: When Pete woke up that Saturday morning all he thought was that he was going to have his hair re-dyed, nothing more than that.





	Dye Day

When Pete woke up that Saturday morning all he thought was that he was going to have his hair re-dyed, nothing more than that. It had been a tradition since they were kids that every second Saturday of the month Henrietta would dye Pete’s hair to keep it from going pink. The only times they had ever missed a Saturday was when they fought for two weeks in the eighth grade, or when they had to skip a session because Pete got a concussion and couldn’t sit through it without throwing up. Other than those times, they were pretty good at being consistent.

 

_I’m ready whenever you get here_ , Henrietta had texted him, letting him know it was time to actually get out of bed before she got too impatient. 

 

Pete rolled out of bed lazily, instantly missing the warmth of the blankets. He looked around his small room for some clothes, hoping they would be passable to wear a second time without washing. He ran a comb through his hair quickly, since Henrietta always complained it made her job harder when he didn’t. When his hair seemed acceptable, he sent a text to Henrietta to let her know he was on his way.

 

Henrietta met him at the door and ushered him up to the bathroom before the rest of her family could ask who was at the door. 

 

In the bathroom, she was already set up with a bowl of red dye, window open, and towels. He was glad it wasn’t a bleach session because contrary to how long he had been dying his hair, he still couldn’t get used to the smell. Pete knelt on the toilet seat, which Henrietta had generously laid a towel on so he wouldn’t complain about his knees hurting, ready to start. However, Henrietta shook her head and gestured to his t-shirt. 

 

“Shirt off,” she said. “I’m not going to listen to you bitch later about how I ruined your shirt again.”

 

“Fine,” Pete mumbled. He slid his shirt off slowly. He already felt goosebumps beginning to rise across his upper body as the cool Colorado air flowed through the window. “Can we at least close the window.”

 

“Nope,” Henrietta shook her head. “Lean over.”

 

Pete sighed and he leaned towards to sink. He missed the days when he didn’t have to lean in such an awkward position and could just sit, but after they accidentally dyed the top of the toilet red  Henrietta’s mother insisted they did it over the sink instead. That was one of the few times Pete had ever seen Mrs. Biggle not cheery around Henrietta’s friends. So they kind of had to comply. 

 

He used his hands to support himself against the edge of the sink as Henrietta began to section off parts of his hair. He had to admit it felt good the way Henrietta ran her hand through his hair, he felt relaxed. So relaxed, that Pete jumped when Henrietta started applying the cold dye.

 

“Stop moving so much,” Henrietta complained, pushing him back into position. “You act like this is new or something.” 

 

She slowly worked her way from the back to front, massaging the blood red mixture into Pete’s hair. She was humming to herself as she went. Finally, she reached Pete’s bangs which were always the tricky part since they were so close to his face and he was prone to moving them. She reloaded the brush with what was left of the dye and started to paint it in. When Henrietta got about halfway through Pete’s fringe, just as predicted, he moved. Henrietta cursed as a glob of dye came off the brush and landed near Pete’s temple before dripping down his face and onto the counter. 

 

“Sorry,” Pete apologized, closing one eye to avoid getting any dye in it. “My arms are going numb. Can I move?”

 

“Hold on, I want to take a picture,” Henrietta said as she reached for her phone. “The dye makes you look like a trauma patient.”

 

Pete’s arms were shaking as he pushed away from the sink, he had never really been able to build much upper body strength before. Pete allowed himself to have a quick stretch and wiped away the dripping dye before leaning forward again, this time leaning over the sink enough that he could comfortably rest his arms on the counter with his head above the sink.

 

After she finished Pete’s bangs, she set a timer for half an hour. If he had wanted to he could have crossed the hall to Henrietta’s room and waited there, but Pete decided that he was too lazy to move. Plus, he didn’t want to have to worry about dripping dye around Henrietta’s house.

 

“Do you think Michael and Firkle are awake yet?” Henrietta asked as they waited for the dye to set in. 

 

“I doubt it,” Pete said. There was no way that either Michael or Firkle would voluntarily be awake right now. Honestly, if it wasn’t Dye Day he would probably still be wrapped in his blankets sleeping.

 

“Lame,” Henrietta rolled her eyes.

 

Once the timer went off, Pete moved from the counter and turned towards the shower. As he turned on the water, Henrietta said something about going to make coffee and to hurry up before leaving, shutting the door behind her. Pete finished stripping down and stepped under the cold stream of water. He sighed and regretted that he hadn’t shut the window before starting his shower as the cold further seeped into his body. Pete stood under the shower head and watched the water below him swirled a familiar red.

 

Eventually, the red became a tint and then faded into pink before running clear. Pete shut the water off and shook some water from his bangs. Without the sound of the water running, he thought he heard voices coming up the stairs down the hall. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel he previously used as a cushion. Pete dried his upper body before wrapping the towel around his waist, he took a step closer to the door and listened curiously to what was going on in the hallway.

 

“Where is he?” a muffled male voice asked. It sounded concerned and frantic. “What did you do to him?”

 

“Can I help you?” came Henrietta’s distinct voice. “I know you just walk in all the time, but at least text first. Hey-!”

 

Suddenly the bathroom door was thrown open, revealing an out of breath Michael on the other side. He looked like he’d ran, something very not goth, all the way to Henrietta’s house. For a few moments they just stared at each other as Henrietta appeared behind him in her doorway.

 

“What the fuck,” Pete said, taking a step back. 

 

“You’re okay?” Michael asked, stepping into the bathroom. He walked quickly up to Pete, his eyes searching for something. “You’re not bleeding anywhere?”

 

Pete felt uncomfortable having Michael stand in front of him. Sure he had been shirtless in front of Henrietta numerous times during dye sessions, but rarely was he ever in front of Michael like this. One hand gripped the towel that protected his lower half from exposure, while the other moved to cover his chest as if it mattered.

 

“No?” Pete managed to say, visibly flustered. “What is going on? Why are you here?”

 

“I ran here because I thought you got hurt,” Michael answered. “Henrietta sent me some dumb fucking picture of you with blood coming out of your head.” He glared accusingly in her direction. 

 

“Relax,” Henrietta rolled her eyes and leaned against the door frame. “It was just hair dye. You know, it’s the second Saturday of the month and all.”

 

“It’s not funny,” Michael said, sternly. “I thought you gave him a concussion, again.”

Henrietta’s face changed between a look of offense to annoyance in a matter of seconds before she hissed, “That was one time and it was an accident.”

 

“I would hope it was an accident that he smashed his head into the sink and you didn’t do it on purpose,” Michael laughed dryly. 

 

The incident was a touchy subject for Henrietta, although nobody was really sure if it had actually been her fault or not. The only fact that seemed to matter at the moment was that during a previous Saturday while dying his hair Pete got a concussion at Henrietta’s house that had lasted for two months. Pete didn’t really know or care how it happened, but Michael always seemed to pin the blame on Henrietta for letting it happen.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Henrietta said sarcastically. “I didn’t think I’d have to childproof my bathroom for a fucking sixteen-year-old!”

 

Pete wasn’t sure if that last comment was supposed to be directed more towards Michael or himself, but he didn’t like listening to the two yell at each other. Arguments between Michael and Henrietta were the worst since neither were the type to back down first. 

 

“Guys stop,” Pete intervened, although his voice seemed quiet to theirs in comparison.

 

“Only if he apologizes to me,” Henrietta said, glaring at Michael.

 

He only met her gaze and matched it with a look full of intimidation. There was no way Michael was going to apologize to her when she was the cause of the argument in his eyes. 

 

“Michael,” Pete pleaded, watching the silent stare down. 

 

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Michael said after hearing the desperation in Pete’s voice to end the conflict. “But you shouldn’t send weird pictures like that.”

 

“I thought it looked cool,” Henrietta shrugged. 

 

“That’s not the point,” Michael snapped. “It’s incredibly irresponsible of you to-”

 

“Hey!” Pete cut him off, finding his louder voice. “If you guys are going to fight can you at least leave the bathroom so I can put clothes on?”

 

Michael turned and looked at Pete, suddenly realizing how awkward it was standing in the bathroom next to him in just a towel. His eyes strayed from Pete’s face, traveling down his pale body towards his thin waist. He was always so small in comparison to his friends, it made Michael wonder sometimes if he was eating regularly. Pete also had a small birthmark near the top of his hip that occasionally revealed itself over his skinny jeans, but it was currently hidden beneath the towel.

 

“Yeah, of course.” Michael blushed and quickly turned towards the door. “Let’s go, Henrietta.”

 

Pete let out a sigh of relief after the door clicked shut. He could feel his face flush from the way Michael had looked him up and down. Was he noticing how effeminate Pete’s body always seemed, with his soft face, slim waist, and defined hip bones that always felt too prominent? Much to his displeasure, Pete was pretty sure he could pass as a very flat chested girl, with his only dignity below the waist. He covered his face with his hands, for once appreciating the chilliness of the room. 

 

It was then he realized the fact that Michael had run to Henrietta’s house, which was at least a twenty-minute walk under normal circumstances, because of him. Pete felt a mixture of happiness and embarrassment welling up inside. 

 

“I should apologize for causing him trouble,” he thought to himself.

 

He found his clothes, which had been lying forgotten on the floor, and quickly moved to put them on. He dried his legs before sliding his boxers and jeans on, looking for his belt to keep his jeans from sliding down. Once he found it, he pulled his shirt over his head, shivering as water from his still damp hair slid down his back. He gave his head a rough towel dry and hung the towel from his shoulders. Before he left the bathroom, he checked to make sure his face wasn’t too noticeably pink.

 

When he crossed the hall, he found Michael and Henrietta in the bedroom. Henrietta was sitting on her floor, shuffling through a stack of CDs between sips of coffee from her favorite mug. Michael sat on her bed, absentmindedly smoking a cigarette.

 

“Hey,” Pete said, walking in and trying to act casual.

 

“Hey,” Michael nodded, glancing in his direction. 

 

Pete sat between the bed and where Henrietta was on the floor. He played with the towel, watching leftover droplets drip from his bangs. They were beginning to make a small wet patch on the carpet in front of him. 

 

“You should dry your hair,” Michael said, breaking his semi-trance. “Henrietta where’s your blow dryer?”

 

“In the bathroom,” Henrietta replied, not even looking up. “Get it yourself.”

 

Michael rolled his eyes and rose from the bed, going back across the hall and disappearing into the bathroom. When he returned, he was carrying Henrietta’s purple hair dryer. He plugged it in next to her nightstand and sat on the bed again.

 

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the floor in front of him.

 

Pete was going to protest, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice again. Slowly, he crawled across the floor and settled in front of Michael. Thankfully, he had his back to him, and Michael wouldn’t be able to see the fresh blush creeping across Pete’s face. Pete pulled his knees to his chest anxiously.

 

Michael didn’t say anything as he began to dry Pete’s hair. He held the dryer in one hand and used the other to fix Pete’s hair. His fingers were more gentle in comparison to Henrietta’s, and they combed through his hair with delicate precision. Combined with the heated air, Pete felt like he was in heaven, subconsciously leaning back.

 

Michael had a small smirk on his face, Pete was practically purring under his touch. He took extra care separating the vibrant red from the natural black strands. 

 

“Sorry you had to come here so early,” Pete mumbled quietly. 

 

“It’s fine,” Michael said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

 

There was a pause in the conversation, as Pete wasn’t really sure how to respond. He felt warm inside though, knowing that Michael cared about him. The silence was filled with the sound of the hairdryer. Once he was done, Michael turned off the air and admired his work.

 

“It looks good,” he commented. “You did a good job, Henri.”

 

“As always,” Henrietta snorted, shuffling her CDs.

 

“It’s so fluffy,” Michael said, running his fingers through Pete’s hair again. “Has it always been like this?”

 

“I don’t know,” Pete shrugged, enjoying the attention. 

 

Michael continued to basically pet the top of Pete’s head for quite some time, which Pete had no complaints about. It wasn’t until Henrietta decided that there wasn’t a single good CD in her vast collection that fit the mood, that the touching spell came to an end.

 

“Well, there’s no good music to listen to right now, so I’m going to Benny’s,” Henrietta said restacking her CDs. “Feel free to join me if you’re done finger fucking Pete’s hair. I’ll be in the car.”

 

She then left the room, but not before turning to smirk at the two boys in her room. Michael froze for a second before retracting his hand from Pete’s head, his cheeks lightly dusted pink. Pete, on the other hand, had his face buried in his knees, but Henrietta was sure his face must be matching his fresh dye job. She laughed to herself as she walked down the hallway, listening for the sound of them scrambling after her.

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I've posted in a very long time on any website... I might be rusty, so if you catch any glaring mistakes or typos, let me know!


End file.
